


play it just in case

by nightwideopen



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Busking, Hate to Love, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, New York City, No Smut, Past Character Death, Pining, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: In which Louis likes Nick but tries to convince himself that he doesn't.





	play it just in case

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I wrote this for the [Grimmy Appreciation Fest](http://grimmyappreciation.tumblr.com)! I wanted to write something in which Louis, much like myself, can't help but love Nick. I've come to find that it's virtually impossible to not be hopelessly in love with him. Hope you all love Nick as much as I do by the end of this. 
> 
> This is also the longest Tomlinshaw fic I've ever written to date! Hooray!
> 
> For reference, they're both still English just living in NYC. Hope my British banter isn't too bad. Also!!!! DISCLAIMER: I (fortunately) know nothing about being homeless. 
> 
> [Here](https://www.timeout.com/newyork/things-to-do/where-to-volunteer-homelessness) is an article about places that help the homeless in New York City. Most of the websites have donation links. I genuinely hope this never happens to any of you.
> 
> (alternatively titled Nicholas bloody Grimshaw)
> 
> Title from Black Treacle by Arctic Monkeys (hopefully once you've read it it makes sense)

 

Fall fading into winter means that it's still dark when Nick shimmies his way out of the subway and down the concrete island on 6th Avenue towards the broadcasting building. It also means that singing at the top of his voice over the rush hour traffic, he pays no mind to the shivering lump that is Louis. Louis with his frayed blanket from home that protects him from the elements when he can't find shelter for the night – which is more often than not. Louis and his beat-up Yamaha that's slightly off tune and only switches to the trumpet setting. He's curled up between the gold lined revolving doors and the Starbucks, teeth chattering. 

Nick, wrapped in a faux fur coat, sneaks up behind Fiona, who’s just three paces in front of him, wrapping his tentacle arms around her, making her gasp. 

She bats him away. “Fuck off, Grimmy! It’s too _early_.”

“It’s been _five_ years, Fifi, honestly. How are you not used to this?”

As someone who remembers his school days much too vividly, Louis wants to pipe up that no one gets used to such a rotten hour. Even now, he’s grumpy and on edge, eyes adjusting to the streetlamps having just flickered out. 

Nick trips over Louis’ leg. 

“Oh, shit, sorry mate.”

And he just keeps walking. 

Every morning when Nick walks into work, as chipper as ever, headphones tucked firmly in his ears, it makes Louis’ blood boil. Watching him waltz into his high paying entertainment job where he harasses equally overpaid entertainers while Louis wastes away on the street trying to scrape up some money for food is infuriating. 

When Louis first moved to New York, he didn’t plan on living on the street. And he knows, he _knows_ , that no one _plans_ to live on the street. He just… Louis never really thought it would happen to him. But when his already low paying job fired him because he was taking too many days off to visit his family upstate, things took a turn for the worst and Louis didn’t know what to do. He’d scrambled for weeks trying to find something new, but to no avail. No one, not even _Starbucks_ , wanted to hire a twenty-five year old, unreliable college drop-out, apparently. And he very well couldn't tell his family that he was out of a job and had an eviction notice looming over his head, not when they were all in the middle of grieving. He couldn't be there to inconvenience them further. 

So he packed up his car, hugged his sisters and brother as tight as he could and went back to the city. More than a little lost and terrified of looking desperate in the face of his friends, Louis waited out his eviction, canceled his cellphone bill, sold his car and bought a keyboard piano. It was the cheapest thing he could find on eBay. 

Louis also hadn’t planned on making the Soho broadcasting house his first choice for daily morning busking. It had been the first building he’d come across when he blindly emerged from the subway in a drunken daze, piano tucked under his arm. He’d plopped down and fallen asleep, and when the morning hit, a steady stream of people who probably loved and appreciated music as much as he did passed him by. It clicked, then, that this could probably work. This could probably get him back on his feet. 

It didn't, not completely. But he's still alive, and that's more than he'd begun to hope for after nine months of working the building. Louis can usually make about eight dollars on a good Friday morning and eats a McDonald's while begrudgingly listening to Nick's show. 

—

It's unusually cold for early October, and Louis hasn't slept in three days. On top of his stress-induced insomnia, the persistent shivering has been keeping him awake. He's on the brink of tears, contemplating sucking up his pride and begging one of the security guards to let him warm up for ten minutes and charge his phone. 

He's been trying to save up for a coat, he really has. Louis had to sell it when summer started so he'd have enough money to buy pair of shorts. Plus, he couldn't be carrying around the extra weight when he had a blanket for the cool nights. He's got a separate fund on the side of his usual meal funds and everything, for now. But for some reason every time he thinks he has enough, he doesn't. The chill has long since seeped into his bones, and he can't remember what being warm feels like. 

“Christ, don't you have a coat or something?”

The last thing Louis wants to hear while sleep deprived and miserable is Nick Grimshaw’s voice. 

Louis doesn't bother turning away from the wall, trying to save face more than anything. It's embarrassing enough, but pretentious radio DJs _are_ the very least of his priorities. And as hard as it is to remain intimidating while shivering within an inch of his life, Louis tries. 

“Don't you have your own fucking business to be minding?”

Nick scoffs. 

“I was just asking,” he says, “You don't have to be so rude.”

“And you don't have to be so bloody annoying,” Louis points out.

“Look, if you–”

Louis isn't even remotely curious as to what contentious nonsense Nick has lined up to spill out of his mouth. 

“Unless you're going to offer me a million dollars, I suggest you leave me alone.” 

There's a long moment of silence where Louis thinks Nick has left, and he tries to shut his eyes again for one more moment of peace before he has to start playing for the morning employees coming in and night ones leaving. But then he hears a sigh, one that holds no certain connotation to it, and then footsteps coming towards him. He goes very still, pretending to be asleep, then promptly flips over when he remembers his open bag of money. He's been robbed before and refuses to let it happen again. 

Louis draws his backpack close to his chest, backing up against the wall quickly, but is only met with Nick crouching in front of him with an absolutely _pitiful_ look on his face. He's got his jacket in one hand a five dollar bill in the other, and Louis is very confused. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I–” Nick turns bright red. “I just want to help. I’m not really outside much and ’s not fair.”

“I–” Louis almost says _I know you plenty,_ but he’s swiftly reminded that he doesn’t know Nick at all. Outside of his unreasonably bitter notions, that is. He loosens his grip on his backpack, zipping it closed. “I'm not taking your coat. I'll buy one myself when I get the money.”

Louis stands up, gathering what's left of his tattered blanket along with his keyboard. He sways, vision blacking out for a second. He's so… tired. His knees and back ache from the shivering and the concrete. And as his stomach rumbles, all he can think about is how much a breakfast sandwich is going to put him off a proper jacket. 

Nick must notice him stumble, but he doesn’t mention it. 

“Then just take this.” 

He tries to hand Louis the money again, but Louis backs away. The look on Nick’s face is almost enough to make him forget how much he hates him. 

Louis shakes his head. 

“You've never even heard me play.”

“That doesn't–”

“It does matter,” Louis insists, “I don't take charity.”

He turns and leaves, regretting it all. He could be warm and have five more dollars, but it just had to be Nicholas bloody Grimshaw. 

—

Louis eventually save up enough money to buy a thrifted coat and haggle his way to getting it for a third of the price. He then has enough money to buy a subpar costume – a headband that made it look like a knife went through his head – for afternoon busking in Washington Square Park, then maybe outside some shops on St. Mark’s Place.

However, in accordance with Louis’ entire life thus far, it downpours from the afternoon until the next morning. 

He finds himself back outside the studios after being kicked out of the Starbucks, air drying his green parka in the taunting afternoon sun. It's cold, but the sun is unreasonably warm, so he sits, playing _Bad Day_ by Daniel Powter on a loop. He makes three dollars in coins by the time he's gotten sick of the sound and resigns to trying to distract himself on his phone. 

“Alright there, pop star?”

Louis huffs, refusing to look up. Nick keeps talking anyway. 

“I– What’s your name?”

Nick is standing there, wearing three scarves and looking utterly infuriating. He's got about fifty bucks worth of cologne wafting off of him. Louis could buy a train ticket home with that much money. 

“I'm not comfortable disclosing that information.”

Louis’ coat must be dry by now. He has to catch the subway to Midtown for the lunch rush. 

“But you know mine, so I think it's only fair.”

“Oh _God._ " Louis’ abs are still sore from shivering, but he can't help laughing. "Are you really that much of a self-centered wanker that you think I know your _name_? Like you're some common celebrity?” 

Nick raises his eyebrows at the outburst. He’s just standing there, with his hands in his pockets, expression indecipherable. 

“But you do know my name, don't you?”

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, I know your name, you absolute dickhead.” It's oddly satisfying to watch Nick’s face finally flush with embarrassment. “Would you quit looking at me like that? Haven't you got rich friends to entertain? A rare art gallery to attend?”

He busies himself with gathering his things, fiddling with nonexistent settings on his keyboard. He really should go, but he hasn’t had a proper conversation with anyone in far too long. He misses talking, even if it is to Nick Grimshaw.

“I'm sorry.” The shade of red Nick’s face has reached is worrying. “Like– Like what? Looking at you how?”

He's denser than Louis could have ever falsely accused him of out of bitterness. 

"Like you feel sorry for me. No offense, mate, but I really don't need it." 

Louis goes back to his phone. He's got several Snapchats from his youngest sisters. 

“I don't feel sorry for you,” Nick says.

“ _Very_ sympathetic, pal, thanks,” Louis remarks, just to be annoying. 

Nick makes a sound that Louis didn't think he was capable of. It's frustrated and upset all at once. 

“Why are you being so difficult?” he whines. “What have I ever done to you?” 

Louis doesn't answer. He thinks maybe this conversation has gotten away from him. Maybe if he stays quiet Nick will leave. The Snapchats are of the puppies Louis got them for their twelfth birthday last year. 

“Why do I bother,” Nick mutters before his Vans disappear from Louis’ periphery. 

Louis doesn't know why Nick is bothering either, and he really wishes he wouldn't. He doesn’t want to get used to someone that isn’t going to stick around. Even if it is Nick, of all people. 

—

The first time Louis saw Nick, he had his dogs with him: an English bull terrier that was pulling on her lead so hard that she was nearly choking herself, and a small black pug with an underbite which rivaled that of any bulldog twice his size. Louis had known _of_ him, and the dogs, already, obviously. He’d listened to the show almost every morning on the subway, on every drive back home last year. It was a constant in his life, and there was something about Nick’s voice that drew him in, whether it be the distinct sound of it or the English accent that reminded him of home. 

But when he saw Nick in person for the first time, his slight admiration turned into an unreasonable desire to impress the man. 

For weeks, Louis mooched off of the Starbucks wifi trying to learn songs that might've grabbed Nick's attention. He was embarrassingly up to date on Nick's social media, listened to the show each morning for hints of what Nick liked. The Nixtape was like a dream; a careful compilation of songs that Louis should pay more mind to, even if they weren't exactly his taste. 

Ripped jeans, baggy hoodies and t-shirts, Nick made living life look easy. Louis quickly came to learn that that was because Nick is living his dream. He loves his job and has amazing friends and cute dogs and a place to go home to every night.

So Louis grew to hate him. Hate being a relative term. Hate meaning that Louis was pining after a man who refused to acknowledge his existence. Even after two months, Nick’s life was still far too interesting to pay a hopelessly crushing Louis any mind. 

In a bout of sleepy desperation and impulsiveness, Louis had stuck his foot out from underneath his baby blue blanket, making Nick trip, stumble and kick his keyboard. His plan had only gone as far as getting Nick's attention and didn't include his only source of income being damaged. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone with the pull-her-pigtails approach. 

“Oi, watch it, wanker!”

The words tumbled out of his mouth in place of an apology, and before he had a chance to backpedal, Nick was firing back. 

“Maybe go home then and don't be blocking the entire sidewalk, then, eh?”

Louis had felt his hopeless crush dissolve under the condescending tone of Nick’s voice. 

Nick seemed to have forgotten about the interaction the next morning, and Louis had stopped going out of his way to get his attention. He started listening to the show out of spite, trying to figure out how to piss Nick off the most. 

—

“How much you think he's got?”

“Don’t know. Looks scrawny enough, though. We could take him.”

“I bet I could take him on my own.”

“Just take the goddamn backpack and don't wake ‘im up.”

For a moment, Louis thinks the voices are in his dream. Or his nightmare, rather. He's dreamt of being robbed several times since the last time happened, but lately, he sleeps more soundly with his rucksack slung over his shoulders and drawn tight to his stomach. 

It takes a few seconds, but Louis’ tired brain registers that he is, in fact, awake. When he opens his eyes to find the source of the plotting voices, he's met with two boys around his age all but charging towards him. 

One of them has red hair and makes a grab for his tattered backpack. Even half asleep and groggy, Louis is quicker and scrambles backwards as far as he can. When his back hits the wall, the redhead succeeds, ripping one of the straps off if Louis' shoulders. 

Louis puts up a fight, even while on the ground, shoving the boy’s grabby hands away. “Fuck off!”

It's relatively fine until a shoe lands itself on his ribs, knocking all the air from his lungs. The taller lad, wearing a smirk on his face, leans down to Louis’ eyesight. 

“What’re you gonna do, huh? Fight us off with your little fairy hands? Sing us to death?” 

Laughter surrounds Louis, but he doesn't give up the fight with the ginger in front of him, trying to steal everything he owns. All of his hard earned money. His whole life is in the rucksack that he's clutching tight to his chest, and he refuses to give it up, even if it means getting a beating. 

Another swift kick puts him on his side, but then Louis is being hauled up to his feet, barely able to breathe. 

“Get– Get off! Get the fuck _off_ of me!” He's trying to be loud enough that someone, anyone will hear him. He doesn't even know what time it is. “Fucking stop it!”

His vision blacks out for a second when a fist collides with the side of his head, just next to his left eye. Louis tries to return it, making a blind swing for whatever’s in front of him, but it only results in one of the straps of his rucksack slipping further off of his shoulder and his back being slammed into the wall behind him. 

Louis holds onto his rucksack for dear life, taking punch after punch as they're given to him, refusing to let go. He manages to stay mostly silent, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of anything other than muffled whimpers. 

“Just give it _up_ ,” the ginger groans after he’s given a knee to Louis’ ribs. 

Louis shakes his head, spitting blood from his mouth. 

“No.”

“Fucking idiot.”

The assault on Louis abruptly stops when a fourth voice enters the vicinity. 

“Oi! What the fuck d’you think you're doing? I'll call the police; get off ‘im!”

Nick’s horribly distinct voice startles all three of them, leaving Louis stunned, frozen. The brief moment of vulnerability leaves Louis’ grip weak, and the ginger thief yanks his rucksack off of his shoulders and makes a break for it, his companion close behind. 

The hands holding Louis to the wall fall off of him, and consequently so does he to the ground. 

“Jesus–” Nick says, suddenly very close to Louis. “Are you alright?”

Louis can't find the strength to open his eyes, much less give a snarky response to Nick’s sudden concern for his wellbeing. He just shakes his head, hugging himself tightly, whimpering when he presses on a bruise. 

“My bag–” A worryingly wet cough cuts Louis off. He feels properly fucked up. “It’s…”

“Come on,” Nick hauls him to his feet and begins to guide him to the doors of the studios. “Come inside, you're freezing.”

Louis protests silently, digging his feet into the sidewalk. He's suddenly all too aware of the tremors running through his whole body. Be it from the cold or the pain, he can deal with it, he doesn’t care. What he can't deal with is the embarrassment of appearing weak, unable to defend himself, in front of total strangers. He knows he’s probably got blood in his teeth, and can barely hold himself upright, but he can’t bear the thought of letting Nick Grimshaw, of all people, fix him up. 

Nick steps in front of him, giving him an odd look of worry and confusion. “What’re you doing? Just come inside, it's fine.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don't–” His voice breaks off. 

"You don't take charity, I know." Nick is inordinately strong for his lanky appearance and manages to push Louis through the glass doors and across the lobby. "But you're hurt and you've lost your things, and I'm offering to help. Don't be so bloody stubborn for once in your life and just let me, alright? For my own peace of mind."

The immediate warmth that washes over Louis sends a violent shiver through his whole body. He hasn't been warm since yesterday afternoon when he spent half an hour inside the toilets at McDonald’s using an automatic hand dryer to warm up the inside of his coat sleeves. 

The lift is empty when they step inside, and Louis very nearly drops to the ground. His whole body _hurts_ , so much. The only thing that keeps him on his feet is Nick’s diligence, hands catching him as his lower body gives up holding dead weight. 

Louis has never actually been inside the Z100 studio before. He knows it's general layout from videos of games and interviews that he's watched in his exorbitant amount of free time. But it's a lot bigger in person, even with all the equipment. 

Nick guides Louis to the seat that sometimes makes an appearance on Nick’s Instagram stories. He can't get one thought out of his head as Nick putters around the studio. 

He finds his voice again to ask Nick, “Why do you even care?”

The song that was playing ends, and they both stay quiet through Adele's link. Louis doesn't look away from Nick, who hasn't looked at from Louis since he sat him down. Eventually, Nick finds what he's looking for and kneels down in front of Louis. He presses an ice pack to Louis' ribcage through his thin shirt. It's cold, almost painfully so, and Nick is pressing a little too hard on his bruises. But all Louis can focus on is Nick's worried face, his barely-there freckles, the ridiculous height of his hair that’s nearly brushing Louis’ nose. Nick doesn't need to be doing this, he could've walked right into work without incident, he could've left Louis after chasing the muggers away. But now Nick is knelt in front of Louis, tending to his wounds and it’s quite possibly too much. 

Louis forgets for a moment that Nick is a pretentious dick that thinks he’s too good to pay homeless pianists any mind, and the crush he’d manage to squash months ago comes rushing back. 

He remembers, though, he always does. No amount of thigh tattoos or asthma or dog-ruined trainers could make Louis forget just how much he hates Nick Grimshaw’s overpaid ego. 

Nick seems to forget the question when the music resumes. 

“I’ve got the radio soon,” he says, “But… you can stay if you’d like. Warm up. Help yourself to some food, tea. Just say you’re my friend or summat.”

"Right." Louis scoffs. "I'm fairly certain that half the staff here recognizes me as the piano playing street rat that steals the wifi from Starbucks. Doubt they'll believe I was _invited_ in.” 

Nick frowns. 

“You’re not a street rat.”

“Well I’m not exactly a home rat, am I.”

His voice is strained and it hurts to talk, he can barely see out of his left eye, but somehow the statement manages to make Nick look like he’s the one that’s been kicked. 

He’s quiet for a moment. 

“I’ve got to go. You know where I’ll be if you need anything.” He points an accusing finger at Louis. “Keep the ice on.”

He’s gone again then, leaving Louis with the inner turmoil of how to feel about Nick Grimshaw. 

—

Louis doesn’t stay, barely lasts through Nick’s all too familiar _good morning, everybody_. He limps out of the studio, trying not to, but every time he straightens his leg it cramps up and he’s forced to bend it at the knee again. When he steals a croissant from the breakfast table, he’s careful to make sure no one sees. 

His keyboard is exactly where he left it, haphazardly kicked to the side. He doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s got nothing. No spare clothes to use as a pillow, no money to buy tea from McDonald’s with, no phone to find comfort in his sisters’ daily Snapchats. How is he supposed to know if they’re alright? 

Louis throws the icepack to the side, landing a kick to his keyboard in frustration. Three keys go flying off, and if he weren’t already feeling murderous about everything else, he’d scream. The cold starts to creep in under his coat, so he just takes it off, hoping for it to numb his injuries. It works, for the most part, and he’s doing well not to shiver too violently. 

Despite his best efforts, his thoughts drift to Nick. Nick's perfect life and well paying job and cozy house and dogs to keep him company at night. Nick's horrible tendency to be a good person with good friends and a whole lot going for him. It makes Louis' face heat up in anger, but it's short-lived. He's reminded of Nick's wonderful laugh and ridiculous jokes and the way he didn't hesitate to come to Louis' rescue, offer his resources and position to help Louis. He's reminded of the way he felt the first time he saw him. If Louis hadn’t been so desperate for his attention, he might not have ended up hating Nick at all. 

He falls asleep, he thinks, head resting in a corner, legs splayed out in front of him. It doesn't feel like long, from the moment he closes his eyes to the moment he opens them, but it must be because his neck is in a bad state and his hands have gone properly numb from the cold. 

He tries to convince himself it’ll be fine, that he can move his busking to the subway, that the broken keys don’t matter. 

“Fuck,” Louis says to no one. Head in his hands, it slips out of his mouth just to spite him, to remind him that he doesn’t have it altogether. “Fucking _shit_.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Louis doesn’t know who has decided that it would be a good idea to make jokes while he’s in the middle of a life crisis, but he snaps at them nonetheless.

“Don’t fucking talk about my mother.”

Following his hostile outburst, silence returns, leaving Louis back to his racing thoughts. He doesn’t know what he’s going to _do_. He very well can't stow away on an Amtrak train and beg his step dad to give him somewhere to live indefinitely. Not when he's still mourning (and to be honest, they all are) and has six kids to care for. It's too much for him, for all of them, and no matter how badly he wants to see them, he _can’t_ , in every sense. 

A hand comes to rest on Louis’ shoulder, and he’s so numb and exhausted that he doesn’t even flinch. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s Nick, probably come to rub his perfect life in Louis’ face. “I’m– Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

Louis just shakes his head. 

“I don’t take _charity_.” He tries to shrug Nick’s giant paw off of him, but it doesn’t budge. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t,” Nick says. “I can’t leave you here knowing that you haven’t got a phone or money. It’s not right, what those dickheads did to you. Please just let me help, alright? I promise I won’t hold it against you or like… if you don’t want it to be charity you can do something for me in return. Whatever you want. _Please_ , just," he sounds all too distraught and Louis can't figure out why "Let me help?"

Nick's tone drives right into Louis' skull, an infuriating level of desperation to be Louis' knight in shining armor. 

"Jesus Christ, what is this savior complex you've adopted suddenly?" Louis looks at him, just to see his reaction. "I'll figure it out, just like I have been for the past fucking _year_ as you walked past me every morning,” Louis points out, voice rising. “What, just because I had a phone and fucking drink in my hand I was better off than I am now? Just fuck off back to your dogs and your warm bed and your _perfect life_ and just leave, alright.”

Nick doesn’t move, just stares at Louis with this startled expression on his face. His eyes have practically melted out of his head and Louis’ stomach has done a weird flip. Louis expects him to get defensive, say _You think my life is perfect?_ But he doesn’t. He just looks at Louis, stupefied. 

Louis’ heavy breathing fills the silence. 

“I can’t,” Nick mumbles finally. “I can’t go.”

“And why the fuck not?” 

“Because I’m quite fond of you, even if I don’t even know your bloody name, and you don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than this, I can just tell.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Stop pretending to _care–_ ”

"Alright, look," Nick interrupts, sounding more breathless than before, "I wasn't ignoring you on purpose, alright? You just– living here, you become desensitized to it, y'know?" He puts on a voice, "You get up, you get on the train, you see the same guy every morning at the 14th Street station. You walk around the corner, there's a girl with her dog. You just don't realize it, when it's not you." Nick looks away, down at his knees. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm not trying to make excuses. I just didn't get it, until now. You're not just a part of my daily routine. Something terrible happened to you, I'm sure, and I'm so sorry for that."

Louis' heart swells all over again like it did the first time he saw Nick. He can't be angry. He can't _possibly_ be angry. Sure, his life has gone to shit, and he’s been trying so hard to push away the one person that’s done him any kindness in the last year, but…

He does understand. Before he'd been evicted and his life was semi-decent, he never gave the people he passed on the subway a second glance. Every cardboard sign and dance routine was just another blip in his life. He didn't realize he'd become a blip in other people's lives. Just a fleeting moment of musical notes that may or may not be good enough for Louis to deserve money to eat for the day. 

Louis drops his face back into his hands. 

“ _I’m_ sorry,” he whimpers, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve hated you for half a year because I accidentally tripped you and made you knock into my keyboard. I’ve hated you because of _me_ and I told myself it was the bitterness but I never– I never really hated you, Nick, I’m sorry. I need help and I don’t want to ask for it.”

“You can ask me,” Nick assures him. “I’m not upset with you I just– I don’t even remember that.”

“Why would you?”

“It’s not like that. It was one morning a long time ago, I barely remember my last birthday.”

Louis chuckles. 

“You brought your dogs into work and fell off your chair in the middle of a link.”

“You–” Nick seems surprised, as though he hadn’t previously assumed that Louis knew his name by default. “Well, alright, if you say so.”

A truck roars by, honking loudly. 

"But seriously," Nick says somberly after it's passed, "You can like, come back to my flat, have some tea. I just hope you're not secretly an ax murderer."

Nick clearly thinks it’s funny, smirking.

"I can't even afford an ax, asshat," Louis says, very seriously. 

Nick’s face drops. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

Louis smiles and shakes his head. 

"Relax. It's a joke. I'm joking." The look that had crossed Nick's face has Louis chuckling. “You really don’t even know my ‘bloody name.’”

Nick stays quiet, not pressing, just looking curiously and waiting for Louis to tell him. 

“It’s Louis.”

Nick stands up, dusting off the back of his ripped jeans. It makes Louis look at the tears in his own, wonder if Nick realizes he didn't buy his this way for a fashion statement. 

“Well, c’mon then, Louis.” Nick’s holding his hand out when Louis looks up, squinting against the late morning sun. “The dogs’ll be so excited to meet you. Haven’t had someone new in ages.”

Louis pulls his coat back on and takes Nick’s hand, an odd sensation rushing through him. Feeling the touch of someone else after so long on your own is strange. He wonders if Nick will let him stick around long enough to get used to it again, or if he’ll just send Louis home on a Greyhound bus with a thermos of tea of well wishes, hoping he doesn’t come back. Nick’s flat isn’t a homeless shelter, after all. 

They’re heading towards the subway when Nick stops him. 

“You taking that?”

Louis had almost forgotten. 

His piano lies forgotten on the sidewalk next to the blanket he took such desperate refuge in. He thinks on it, looks at Nick. He thinks about how this crazy man was so insistent on helping him for nothing in return. Louis would be skeptical if he wasn’t so grateful. His hand is still holding Nick’s, neither of them giving any indication of wanting to let go. 

“Nah, that’s alright. Need to find something new, don’t I?” 

Nick looks at him the same way his mum had looked at him when he said he wanted to move to the city. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says. “C’mon. Should probably get you a Metrocard.”

“Christ.” Louis laughs. He’s so used to slipping through the emergency doors and ducking under the turnstile at stations with no booths. “Haven’t had one of those in ages.”

Nick looks scandalized. 

—

“Well… this is me,” Nick says with a flourish as he pushes open his apartment door. 

Louis wants to say how different it looks on his Instagram stories, how you don’t really get the whole effect. It’s exactly how he knows it to be, only with more knick-knacks, a higher ceiling, and two dogs biting at his ankles. It’s strange, how he doesn’t feel awkward kicking off his shoes and bending down to ruffle both sets of ears while Nick hangs up his keys. 

“It’s nice,” Louis says. 

It feels like a gross understatement, but he’s not about to start gushing over the apartment of a man he’s loosely hated for the last eight months. 

“Can I get you anything?” Nick has disappeared into the kitchen while Louis was distracted by all the art on the walls. “Tea?”

“Water?”

Louis expects Nick to grab a glass and turn the tap on, but instead he reaches into the fridge and hands Louis a bottle of Evian. It’s the kind of water Louis would stare at in a shop for several long moments before grabbing one of the weird off brands that costed 69¢. 

The guilt and surprise must show on his face. 

“Don’t worry about it. You can have whatever you like.”

Louis continues to stare at the price tag on the bottle. 

“Why’re you doing this?”

“What?”

“Dunno if you know this but it’s not exactly customary to bring the homeless into your flat and say _What’s mine is yours_.” Louis shifts uncomfortably. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to take all your things? Like… This is weird. It’s really weird and it’s not–”

Nick is suddenly very close to him, forcing him to make eye contact. He puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders. 

“Louis. Listen to me. You know how I know you’re not gonna rob me blind?” He doesn’t wait for Louis to answer. “Because you wouldn’t even take the things I _offered_ you. I trust you, alright? I trust that you’re a good person and you just fell through the cracks of life and I want to help you get back on your feet. I feel like everyone deserves that chance. I know it’s weird, and to be honest you have no reason to trust _me._

_“_ You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. You can have a shower and a shave and be off if you like. Just know that I’m offering to help, and the offer will still stand even if you go.”

Louis’ close to tears by the time Nick’s finished. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” Nick steps back. “Have some water, wash up and I’ll get started on lunch, alright? Everything you need’s in the loo, it’s just up the stairs there.”

He points somewhere behind Louis.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers, voice hoarse. “Really, I mean it. Thank you so much.”

“It’s alright. Go on.”

Louis’ heart is aching with gratitude as he makes his way to the bathroom, all because of Nicholas bloody Grimshaw. 

—

Three weeks after Nick takes Louis back to his apartment in Chelsea, Louis is still there. He knows where the cutlery is kept and how to work Nick’s loud as sin coffee maker. Nick gave him one of his old phones to use, wifi only, and got him a brand new blanket, almost identical to his threadbare one from home. He feels more like Nick’s live-in boyfriend than flatmate, as Nick has taken to calling him on the radio. The only reason for that being Louis’ rekindled admiration for Nick and everything about him. It’s that, and Nick’s subconscious efforts to beat Louis for most tactile person in New York City. Nick’s teasing touches and haphazard forehead kisses have been driving Louis up the wall. 

He’s just making tea on a Saturday morning before taking the dogs for a walk when Nick comes up behind him, soft and sleepy, and wraps his noodle arms around Louis’ neck, startling him. 

“Oi!” He nearly spills the boiling water all over himself, almost wishes he had. “Gonna tend to me burns when you injure me?”

“Of course.”

Nick’s ridiculous laugh rings through the kitchen as he feeds the dogs because Louis always forgets to. Louis’ skin is burning where Nick had touched him. Everyday his heart beats a little faster when he catches glimpses of tattoos he didn’t know Nick had, when he sees him in his favorite shirt two days in a row and his _World's Best Doggy Dad_ mug in his hands. It’s a more intimate admiration than that of Louis’ social media stalking and Nixtape dissection. It’s a friendship that Louis can’t stop his heart from wanting more from. 

“Awfully quiet this morning, pop star.”

Louis laughs, turning back to his tea. 

“Why d’you call me that?”

Nick leans against the countertop, crossing his arms. He shrugs, sleep shirt moving with his shoulders. It makes Louis want to reach out and smooth over the wrinkles futilely. 

“Dunno. You’ve got the look, you’re talented.” He doesn’t sound like he’s joking. “I bet in an alternate universe you’re world famous and have got girls and boys everywhere falling to their knees at the sight of you.”

“High praise, Nicholas,” Louis manages to say without sounding too breathless. “Sounds like you’d be one of ‘em.”

“And if I was?”

The blush creeps onto Louis’ cheeks before he can reply with something that’ll throw Nick off his trail. He thinks he’s been pretty good at pretending for the past few weeks. In hindsight, perhaps a lot of his hopeless pining could be avoided should he just be upfront with Nick about how he feels. But that would mean being honest and vulnerable, and that simply won’t do for the unfazed façade Louis has so carefully crafted. However, he supposes now is as good a time as any to give up pretenses. He really likes Nick, and he can’t help it, why should he try to hide it?

“I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad,” Louis says. 

Louis can practically hear Nick’s devilish grin. 

“You’re blushing, Tomlinson.”

“I am not– What?” Louis isn’t sure if he heard correctly. “What did you call me?”

It’s Nick’s turn to flush red.

“I don’t recall telling you my surname, you absolute creep!” Louis gawks at Nick, smacks his arm. “Have you gone and _Googled_ me? How did you find out? Snooped in my phone? Called my sisters?”

“ _My_ phone–”

“My arse!” Louis shouts. “Spill it.”

Nick drops his head back, and Louis almost feels bad, _almost_. 

“I, um… kind of already,” Nick clears his throat. “Ialreadyknewwhoyouwere.”

“Come again?”

“I already knew who you were, alright?” Nick covers his face with his spidery hands. “I’d seen your covers on YouTube and by the time I’d realizedd that it was _you_ I– I would’ve looked like a dickhead, pointing it out! That’s why I wanted to _help_. I’m– _fuck_.”

“Nick.” Louis’ grin is making his cheeks ache as he reaches for Nick’s wrists. “N _iiiii_ ck. Are you a fan of ‘louistomlinson07?’”

Nick looks Louis square in the eye, a miserable expression on his face. 

“Massively,” he deadpans. “Have been for about two years. Your cover of _I Got A Feeling_ saved my life. ”

Louis is far too pleased with himself to wipe the smile from his face now that he has the upper hand. But he’s also extremely annoyed and can’t keep from landing a punch to Nick’s shoulder. 

“Wanker, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Embarrassing, innit?”

Louis could burst. 

“You _idiot.”_ He punches Nick again for good measure. (“ _Stop that!”_ ) “Embarrassing is the horrible crush I’ve had on you for like a year, not us both already knowing of each other when we’re _living together._ God, you’re so–”

“Do you really?” 

“Christ,” Louis says, “Did _you_ really not notice?” 

Nick shakes his head. 

“Well, perhaps I should become an actor, then.”

Nick’s horribly wide eyes bore into Louis for an inordinate amount of time. Louis can feel the blush creep up his cheeks again under the scrutiny. 

“Are you going to say something? Because if not, the dogs need to be walked and I’ve got some more job hunting to–”

“Kiss me.”

Louis suddenly becomes very aware of the tight grip he has on Nick’s wrists. 

“What?” 

“Kiss me,” Nick says again. He sounds breathlessly overwhelmed. “I know we’ve known each other for like, a minute, but _apparently_ we’ve liked each other for much longer and have done nothing about it. Proper idiots we are, aren’t we?”

“Proper idiots,” Louis agrees, head spinning. He’s half afraid that he’s going to wake up beside the subway station with an awful headache from having brained himself on the sidewalk. “Are you being serious?”

Nick lets a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

“If you want me to be,” he amends with a shrug.

Louis takes it at as yes, rolling his eyes and using his grip on Nick’s wrists as leverage to pull him towards Louis. Their faces collide with almost too much force and Nick’s stubble has scratched horribly at Louis’ clean shaven chin but Louis honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Louis keeps their lips firmly pressed together with a hand in Nick’s sleep mussed hair, his heart swelling. 

Nick breaks them apart after a moment, but stays close enough that their noses are still touching. 

“Never thought I’d be snogging a pop star in my kitchen.”

Louis punches him once more, his scrunched-nose grin defying him.

“Don’t push your luck.”

He goes back to kissing Nick, gentler this time, savoring it. Louis realizeds then that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t be anything other than completely and disgustingly enamoured with Nicholas _bloody_ Grimshaw. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are extremely appreciated :)
> 
> [tumblr](http://nightwideopen.tumblr.com) :)


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